


For the Fallen Ones

by thenightlands



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Domestic Violence, Gen, Original Character(s), Pancakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:34:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6109639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightlands/pseuds/thenightlands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically this is just something for me, it's a light-handed Outsiders modern AU where Johnny gets mutant powers and learns how to cope with them. 99% of this is OCs and I really just need somewhere to post it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Johnny

Johnny squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sink further into the wall, as though if he willed it hard enough, he could disappear into the chipping paint. He could be just another piece of thin flimsy drywall covering the tiny run-down house, unthinking, unmoving. The sounds would float right through him without ever leaving a mark beside the slow yellow stain of cigarette smoke.  
  
He could hear the crashes growing louder, the incoherent shouts growing more agitated. Please not tonight, he thought. But he knew it would be tonight, as it was every night. The Old Man was in a drunken rage like usual, and anything in his path was fair game for destruction, whether it was inanimate or not.  
  
Not tonight, Johnny thought, because already he could sense that something was different. Tonight he would hurt someone.

  


Johnny Cade was no stranger to violence. The pain of a hit and the terror of raised voices stretched as far back into his memory as he could follow, as permanent and natural as being able to walk. The Old Man aggressive and reckless, a constant haze of whiskey and smoke, every little detail of his run-down life could set him off into a rage. His job was construction, but to Johnny he was a teacher with one lesson to remind his son day in and day out: everything was his fault. When the bottle ran dry, it was broken glass at Johnny’s feet. When there was no food in the Old Man’s stomach, it was because the good-for-nothing kid can’t think to get food. If a light blew out or the TV stopped working, Johnny was the source of it, and would be punished accordingly. More than once he fell asleep on the tattered recliner and woke up to a cigarette searing into his arm to get him off. Another lesson. But in a strange way, those were the moments Johnny preferred. At least the Old Man knew he was there. The rest of the time, Johnny was nothing, invisible. Less than even that. He could be gone for days at a time and no one would say a word. He could leave at any hour of the day or night. It didn’t matter if he was dead in a ditch somewhere or getting the medal of honor, he was nothing unless he was in the way. Then it was always, always his fault.  
  
His mother had a bony frame, artificially dark hair, and cheap, cruel eyes. Nothing was ever good enough for her, as she constantly reminded anyone who would listen with a high grating voice. Maybe she thought she always deserved better, that she should be sitting around somewhere in decadent furs eating chocolate truffles instead of doing laundry in a cheap motel and smoking cigarettes in a three-room shack of a house. Any time she didn’t spend working, she gossiped wickedly with other ladies from the neighborhood, gathering around the tiny folding table in the kitchen or drinking cheap wine on someone’s front lawn. Like the Old Man, Johnny seemed to be nothing to her unless she needed a target. If there was someone to show off to, she would take the time to shriek at her son, reminding him how ungrateful he was, that he was getting nowhere in life, that he wasn’t smart or athletic and the other kids at least had something to show for themselves. The high pitched screech of her voice could be heard down the block when she laid into him. But as soon as she got bored, he might as well have been old cigarette ash ground into the carpet for all she looked at him. Johnny could take a beating, the bruises would heal and the pain would subside, but for some reason the words cut deeper, and the silence hurt worst of all, even though he tried not to let it get to him. It was a funny thing not being wanted by your own family, to be reminded day in and day out that he was worthless. If it weren’t for the gang he’d have run away years ago.  
  
The other boys in the neighborhood were a different kind of family. Most of them were older than he was, but they all grew up together in that crumby neighborhood, so close that they were like brothers. There was wise-cracking Two-Bit, and Steve who could fix any car he got his hands on. Then there were the three brothers: Darry the oldest, tough and wise, who was raising his two brothers since their folks died; Soda, who had movie-star looks and the friendliest personality you could ever meet; and Ponyboy, who was just a bit younger than Johnny. Maybe it was because they were closer in age, or maybe it was because they were both quiet, but Johnny and Ponyboy had an understanding like no one else in the group did. The pair of them could easily spend a night just looking up at the stars in a vacant lot without saying a word. Then there was Dally, jail-hardened, tougher, and meaner than anyone Johnny knew. He was impressive and terrifying. Nothing ever got to him, nothing could touch him, a trait that Johnny both admired and feared.  
  
The gang was violent, too, though in a different way. They lived violently, drag racing and stealing and getting into fights for kicks. But they loved violently too, not abusive, but like they had more feeling than they knew what to do with. They were constantly roughhousing or starting fights over girls that would clear up in a day or two. Part of it was exciting, but part of it scared Johnny to death. There were fights every week it seemed, and most of the guys never were happy unless they were breaking some kind of law. It was fun for them, but Johnny knew they were a wrong turn away from being hauled in by the cops. He had heard stories of the reformatories where they sent juvenile delinquents. He had met guys from some other gangs who had been through that system and came out vicious and colder than ice. The thought of it scared Johnny to death, so he kept his head down and his mouth shut wherever he could, and hoped for the best.  
  
Of course, there were some fights that he couldn’t ignore. In their town, there was a set divide. The East side was their territory, the run-down side of things with vacant lots and junk yards. The West side of town was a different world, where the other ones lived, the ones they called socs. They were the rich jet-set socialite kids with cars and kegs and more money than they knew what to do with. They didn’t scuffle among themselves--when they got bored they went out to fight anyone with less power and privilege than they had. They always played dirty, always ensured they brought three guys to every one of whoever they were going to jump. It didn’t do any good to fight them, and Johnny suspected that everyone knew it deep down. Even if you whipped every last one of them, they still had all the money and all the breaks. They had futures, they would get out in the end and leave it all behind, and if it was a socs word against a greaser, you knew who people would believe.  
  
About a week ago, Johnny had been their target. He had wandered down to one of the vacant lots in the neighborhood, just trying to pass the time. It wasn’t unusual--most nights he would roam parks or the streets, soaking in the cool night air and eventually falling asleep in one of the junk-strewn lots, anything to avoid being stuck in that house. It was still fairly light out, the sun just starting to set and the temperature cooling with it. He heard the low rumble of a car nearby, like the growl of a predator stalking him across the grass. He looked up to see a royal blue mustang stopped in the street not far from where he stood. The top was down and after a few seconds, five socs lumbered out of the car--big, muscular, and athletic. They were stumbling, laughing, passing a few bottles in brown paper bags between them. Johnny stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, looking for a way out. The lot had a rusty fence along one side that he could probably jump if he tried, but the drunk socs circled around him, cutting off his escape.  
  
“Lookie here,” said one of them with brown hair with a big square chin. “What they say is true. This side of town’s got a real vermin problem.”  
  
“Yeah, they got a real bad infestation of rats” another said, giving Johnny a sharp shove at the last word. Johnny stumbled but caught himself, hoping they didn’t notice the trembling already taking over him.  
  
“We ought to help clean it up,” another one said, taking a swig out of the brown-bagged liquor. He was the biggest of them, his blonde hair cropped neatly away from his square face, his sharp eyes looking down from the crest of a large nose.  
  
Johnny knew what was coming, knew he only had one shot at getting away. Before he could think, before any of them could get another jabbing remark across, Johnny pulled back his arm and with every ounce of strength he could muster, he aimed a punch right into the large square nose of the one in front of him. He knew he was small and weak, but the impact of the punch sent the boy staggering back in shock and Johnny bolted. He felt a moment of adrenaline as he sprinted a few yards before he felt something hit him hard across the back. He sprawled out onto the grass and dimly noticed some shards of broken glass before two sets of large meaty hands grabbed him and flipped him roughly onto his back. Two of them had him pinned, his arms and legs held painfully at his sides. The one he had hit strolled coolly up, blood dripping from his nose.  
  
He smirked down at Johnny lying helplessly in the grass. “You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kid.” Johnny expected a couple of slugs, a few hits and it’d be over with. Instead the boy leaned close, his face hovering a few inches above Johnny’s, blood dripping off his nose and onto Johnny’s mouth. The stink of stale beer and rich cologne was overwhelming. The boy started talking, saying horrible things in a sickly sweet, low voice, like he was talking poetry to a pretty girl. He was telling Johnny the things he was going to do to him, what parts he was going to cut up first, how they would drag his body behind the car and let the gravel cut him up so bad they wouldn’t be able to tell it was a person anymore, but driving slow enough that he’d still be alive. Then, when it got dark enough, they’d put him on a pit and light a bonfire. He described it in detail, his eyes like chips of ice.  
  
It was rough living in a house where Johnny got hit coming around every corner, where he was reminded every day that he was worthless, useless. But he had never felt fear like this. He felt a chill to his bones at the soft words spoken by that soc and wondered if he threw up whether they would let him up or make him choke on it. He saw a flash of metal as the boy sat up, showing off three heavy rings glinting on his right hand. He gave Johnny one last smirk before he started.  
  
Johnny had taken hits before, he was used to them coming regularly from the Old Man or the playful scuffles of the gang when they got too rough. But never like this. The blows were heavy, powerful, the force of a battering ram, an industrial cannon smashing into his face again and again, deliberate. He felt his skin tear as the metal rings raked across it. He could hear cracking. His face was imploding. Everything was blood and metal and pain. The first hits were sharp, but they soon faded into dull thuds. Bright lights popped in Johnny’s vision, then it all went black.  
  
He couldn’t remember much of what happened after that. Some of the gang had found him, lying there in the grass. He remembered concerned faces, someone lifting him up. He remembered crying, sobbing so hard he thought his chest would cave in. Crying for everything he was worth, because somehow he was still alive. Then he blacked out again. Some time later, he woke up in his bed in the house.

  


For the next few days, all he knew was pain. He figured that some of his ribs had to be cracked, every breath was as sharp as a knife digging into his side. His face was so swollen that he couldn't see out of his left eye. The cuts stung like fire streaking across his face. His skull was crushed gravel. But beneath that, beneath the pain, he felt something more. A tingling just under his skin, running up and down. Something was building in him, charging his muscles with energy like a shock of adrenaline after a scare. He tried to ignore it, tried not to feel it. But it was urgent, insistent. Dangerous. And it didn’t go away.  
  
For the most part, he was alone in his tiny room in the run-down house. Once, his mother came in, screeching at him about how those boys should have beat some sense into him if he was too weak and stupid to fight back. Johnny just remained curled under a thin blanket until she wore herself out and left. When everyone seemed to be gone, he had painfully dragged himself into the kitchen, scrounging some old crackers and a near-empty jar of peanut butter. He had finished that off more than a day ago, and hunger clawed at him almost as persistently as the strange buzzing tingle in his fingertips. He thought longingly of the scrambled eggs that Ponyboy, Soda, and Darry made sometimes, always with a side of chocolate cake. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but if he could make it down to their house, at least he could crash on their couch. The Old man had been on a drunken rampage slamming through the house, but he had been quiet for a couple of hours now, no doubt passed out in his threadbare recliner. Trying his best to ignore the itching buzz beneath his skin, Johnny crept quietly out of his room and into the tiny kitchen.  
  
“Hey,” a thick voice drawled from the other side of the recliner. Johnny froze as the Old Man stood up, knocking a cheap flimsy side table over and swearing as it sent cigarette ash scattering into the floor. He came up next to Johnny and put a thick and hairy arm on the counter next to him, boxing him in with his bulk. Johnny clenched his hand against the counter, trying to ignore the persistent tingle itching in his palm.  
  
“You and your friends take my booze?” the Old Man slurred. Johnny mumbled a brisk “no” to the counter.  
  
“Huh?” the Old Man yelled. His fingers locked around a fistfull of Johnny’s hair, and he bit back a yelp of pain as the Old Man roughly jerked his head back to face him. Johnny almost gagged on the sickly sweet smell of whiskey and vomit as the Old Man pressed his bulk around him. His tank top was stained with sweat and a cigarette dangled loosely from his mouth, the ashes falling onto Johnny’s face.  
  
“I know you and those no-good punk friends of yours stole it, didn’t you?” he snarled, spittle flying from his mouth. Johnny could feel the tingling again, the energy throbbing insistently through his arms and buzzing in his fingertips. Please, just make him leave.  
  
“I don't have it.” Johnny heard himself saying. His voice was so small. Jack against a giant. He could feel the tingling growing, more vibrations now spreading out from his very bones in waves.  
  
The thick fingers clutched even more roughly into his scalp. “You lyin to me, boy? Huh?”  
  
“Don't!” Johnny’s voice was louder now, shrill. An alarm bell. A warning siren. The lights in the room began to flicker, the feeble old lamp in the corner sputtering in and out of life on its own. The Old Man didn't notice. “I didn't take anything!”  
  
“You let those bastards beat yer face in and you didn't learn a damn thing,” the Old Man growled. Johnny tried to break free of his grip, squirming and pulling, but nothing worked. His chest flooded with panic. He knew pain would come soon. His face was still so swollen he could only see out of one eye. He tried not to think of how it would feel to get hit there.  
  
“Let go!” Johnny cried, trying again to pull free. The lights in the main room were flashing wildly now, fluttering as if alive. Johnny could feel them surging as if they were a part of him, some disjointed set of fingers or toes. The energy trilling under his skin was starting to burn, itching and tugging to get out. It felt so powerful. It took everything for him to keep it inside, urging it to stay under his skin while it threatened to burst through at any moment.  
  
The first hit always came so fast, an empty space that became contact and pain before he could blink. By the time the Old Man’s fist was in the air for a second blow, Johnny lost all sense of control. He felt something raw ripping from him as though every muscle in his body were screaming. Every light in the room burst with a pop; a flash and then darkness. At the same time, all of the energy, all of the tingling suddenly released, emanating from his hands, flowing down his arms and out and out and out. He remembered once pulling a blanket up in the dark and seeing the brief popping light show that came from the static--white and yellow and blue, quick as a flash of lightning. Now it was somehow coming from him. He watched as the Old Man lit up like a firework, his face frozen in surprise as though someone had taken a photograph without him expecting it. Then he was thrown backward, flying through the air before landing with a hard thump onto the cigarette ashes on the floor.  
  
Johnny slumped back against the counter and then onto the floor, his breath coming in sharp gasps. The house was dark. Everything was still. Silent. He could smell smoke, not from a cigarette but like the world was singed and hot. He couldn’t quite make out the shape of the Old Man lying sprawled on the floor in the darkness, his eyes still burned white with the flash of the lightning.  
  
He held his breath. Waiting.  
  
Finally, he heard a low groan. The Old Man stirred slightly. He was alive.  
  
He was alive.  
  
Before he could even think, Johnny scrambled to his feet and was running. He turned away from the body lying on the floor and pushed through the flimsy screen door. Sheer panic tightened around him, crushing his chest and pushing his heart up into his throat. What the hell had just happened? What had he done that he couldn’t control?  
Johnny ran into the night toward no destination, the chill of the air searing into his lungs. His side screamed in pain and the swelling in his face distorted his vision, but he could barely register it, he only pushed his legs faster and faster. Nothing mattered except to put as much space between him and that house and the Old Man and whatever the hell had happened back there. The Old Man. The Old Man was alive and Johnny had hurt him. He couldn’t let himself think what the Old Man might do the next time he got ahold of him. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back.  
  
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t feel. His arms and legs were still on fire. He could still feel that energy pulsing, persistent, reminding him that it wouldn’t ever go away.  
  
He ran.


	2. Shadow

Something was different tonight, she could tell. Shadow had always had sharp intuition, which was part of what made her so adept at her job. She could sense a subtle change in the air, a tension in the atmosphere like a thunderstorm about to break. Then something bad would happen. Always. She would turn a corner and find a friend’s home ripped apart, the door ajar, the furniture destroyed, and them gone for good. Steeling herself to stay alert, she began to move through the night. She liked to take regular patrols, roaming first through the neighborhood then outward into the surrounding area, like a bobcat prowling its territory. It was a habit of over-analysis she had developed long ago, checking every corner for trouble, ready and waiting for any hint of something unusual, any sign that there might be another one of her kind out there, or even worse, someone hunting them.  
  
This pressure was decisive, cracking, electric, drawing her toward the dark park across the street. The park was fairly expansive, and centrally located. During the day the jogging paths and benches were filled with old people walking dogs, young families out for a stroll, and high school kids making their way to a movie or shops. At night, it was a different world, the trees cast dark shadows onto the deep green grass, and the few lights flickered feebly. One light in particular was flashing spectacularly, flaring up and fading out at random intervals with more intensity than should be possible for an old public bulb.  
  
Shadow slowed to a walk, stepping carefully onto the frost glazed path. The air here was alive, almost aflame with tension, and now she could see why. Sitting slumped against the post beneath the flickering light was a shape--small, curled in on itself, with its head tucked into it’s arms and it's knees pulled in tight. She could see its shoulders shaking, rising and falling in sobs that matched the dancing light. The air was taut with energy, radiating in waves off this poor kid, crumpled and alone in the park. Shadow’s heart skipped a beat in sympathy and excitement. Found another one.  
  
Coolly, slowly, she walked toward the kid, as though approaching a wounded animal. Up close, she could see that it was a boy no older than a teenager, if that. His clothes were worn and too thin for the chilled spring night--a jean jacket riddled with holes over a faded t-shirt. He looked thin too. When she was not more than a few feet away, she offered a voice, a small “hey.” The kid snapped his head up in surprise then immediately fell back, catching himself on his hands and scooting away quickly into the grass.  
  
“P-please, get back! Stay away!” he shrieked. The flickering bulb overhead exploded with a pop, sending small shards of glass showering down like rain.  
  
“Woah, woah! Easy! Easy there,” Shadow said quickly, trying to keep her voice soothing. She put her hands out as if she were trying to calm a nervous horse. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay.”  
  
The boy stopped trying to scoot away, but still sat rigid. His eyes were wild, like a caged animal, and Shadow could see the slick of tears still shining on his face. Jesus, his face. It was cut up, bad, short gashes speckled across dark bruises from chin to forehead. The entire left side was distorted into bizarre shapes from swelling.  
  
“I--” the boy croaked out, his voice raw with panic.  
  
“I know,” Shadow said, because she did know. She knew that panic, she knew pain, she knew the confusion. “You don’t know what’s going on. You’re scared. You’re confused. Something strange is happening to you. Something you can’t explain or control.” He gave a sharp nod, letting out a breath somewhere between a gasp and a sob. She kneeled down in front of him, making her face level with his to be less threatening.  
  
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re gonna be fine.” She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze for a brief moment to make sure he would understand, that he would believe her when she said “I’m like you.” His breathing slowed a little, but he looked confused. His eyebrows furrowed as though sizing her up, trying to decide what to believe.  
  
“Here,” Shadow said, extending a hand out to him as if to shake his hand. The kid flinched back, eyeing her warily.  
  
“I can’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t--”  
  
“You’re not gonna hurt me,” she assured him, flexing her fingers in encouragement.  
  
He studied her for a few moments more, then tentatively reached his own hand out for hers. Shadow relaxed her hand, letting everything physical phase away into nothingness, letting her flesh become a black smudge in the air. The kid let out a yelp of surprise as his hand closed around empty air. She couldn’t suppress a smirk as he looked up at her incredulously.  
  
“Are you--a ghost?” he asked, his voice tinged with more curiosity than fear.  
  
“No,” Shadow laughed. “Like I said, I'm like you. Everyone’s abilities are different.” The boy looked at his own hand as if expecting it to fade out at any moment.  
  
“Your powers won't work like mine,” she continued. “But I know what you're going through. I know what it's like.” He looked up at her then and it was like looking into a reflection of her younger self. In his eyes she could see all the turmoil of facing this new unknown, but beneath it all a hard spark of hope. The poor kid also looked exhausted, his skin was pale and his swollen face was accented by dark circles under his eyes.  
  
“I can teach you,” Shadow murmured. “I can show you how to control it, so it won't control you.” She held out her hand to him once more, this time keeping it solid. “I can protect you.”  
  
The kids’ eyebrows twitched at that as though he wouldn’t let himself believe it. She wondered briefly if he would refuse, if he would dart away suddenly into the darkness. Instead he gave a sharp nod and took her hand. Shadow stood and pulled him shakily to his feet. He swayed for a bit, but stayed standing.  
“You got a name, kid?” she asked.  
  
“Johnny,” he replied weakly. She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.  
  
“I'm Shadow.”


	3. Johnny

For a moment, Johnny wasn’t sure where he was. He’d woken up somewhere warm, somewhere comfortable, somewhere safe. It was a strange word, but for some reason it was the only thing that fit what he was feeling. A faint stripe of sunlight filtered in from underneath thick curtains and he shifted a bit on the squishy couch. As the last bit of sleep cleared from his mind, he started to remember. The Old Man yelling, and then that lightning pouring out of him like water from a tap. He felt his stomach tighten into an anxious knot and fought the urge to throw up. What the hell had happened? He had run and run before collapsing somewhere in the park, in too much pain to move on, and then out of nowhere, that strange woman had approached him, coming to his rescue in the middle of the night with an outstretched hand and a welcoming smile, telling him that it was going to be alright. Had it been a dream?  
  
Johnny sat up and winced as his muscles screamed in protest. They were sore, as though he had run a marathon and his ribs still smarted sharply. His face still hurt, though not quite as much, but the buzzing, the tingling, that energy was still there, itching beneath his skin, confirming painfully that whatever had happened last night was real.  
  
That woman, Shadow, had said that it was a power of some sort. That she had something like it too. That she would help him. She already has, Johnny thought, glancing around the apartment. She had taken him back with her, let him shower, even gave him some fresh clothes, just a plain t-shirt and some grey sweat pants, then made up a bed on the couch. He had been so exhausted that he hardly noticed it then, but he realized how comfortable he felt. How long it had been since he had been so comfortable.  
  
He found himself looking around the apartment, taking in the details that he was too dazed last night to notice. Everything was plain, simple, minimalist really. The couch in the middle of the room seemed to be the extent of the living area, it was cozy but not too worn and there was small coffee table in front of it. He saw a small kitchen just to the side, dotted with a coffee maker and a few mugs piled in the sink. The only mess was behind the couch, a table scattered with papers and books of all sorts: maps, graphs, even official looking files, a tiny island of chaos in the otherwise sparse apartment. Past that there were a few doors that probably lead to a couple of small bedrooms. One of them was ajar and he vaguely remembered it being the bathroom.  
  
He heard a sound clanking nearby, footsteps coming down stairs and the soft click of a door handle being turned. Johnny tensed and sat up straighter as another door by the foot of the couch swung open. The strange woman poked her head into the apartment, her jet black hair falling in waves around her face. It was the first time he had got a good look at her. She seemed younger than he first thought, in her early twenties if he had to guess. She had a slender build, though not skinny, and was dressed plainly in black leggings and a dark purple zip-up hoodie. She raised her eyebrows a bit in surprise before shooting him a good natured smirk.  
  
“Easy, kid. Don’t set the couch on fire.” Johnny glanced over at his hand tightly gripping the back of the cushion, surprised to find sparks flashing off his fingers and smoldering lightly into the fabric. He let go and carefully folded his hands in his lap.  
  
“Sorry,” he murmured.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied nonchalantly. “You don’t know what you’re doing yet.” Her face lit up with a bright smile as if a wonderful thought had just occurred to her. “Hey, you hungry?” In light of everything that had happened, food was the last thing on Johnny’s mind. But now that she brought it up, he realized just how hungry he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. One, two days ago? As if in answer, his stomach let out a low growl, which he quickly tried to stifle with a hand. Shadow let out a little bark of laughter. “I’ll take that as a yes.”  
  
She turned in the doorway to leave, then paused for a second before pacing back into the room toward the cluttered table in the back. There were some shelves back there along the wall Johnny hadn’t noticed before and she began to rummage through a small box on one of them. After a few moments she emerged, walking toward Johnny with a small orange-brown ball held triumphantly up in one hand. She tossed it lightly to him and Johnny caught it, holding it in his palm for a closer look. It seemed to be a wire wrapped in and around itself over and over like a yarn ball. He could feel a little pull in his hand, as though the endless energy flowing out of him were being sucked into the shiny object.  
  
“What is it?” he asked.  
  
“Copper wire,” Shadow replied. “Conducts electricity. I figured it would keep you from setting my apartment on fire for a bit.” Johnny was about to apologize again, but she merely held a hand up to wave off his statement and walked quickly out the door.  
  
“I’ll be right back!” she called as the door swung shut with a soft click. Johnny stared at the strange little ball of wire, alternating rolling it around in his palm and twining the end of it around a finger. He could actually feel the current running through this thing, he could sense every curve in the wire faintly all the way down to the core.  
  
He couldn’t be sure exactly how long he sat there, rolling the ball from hand to hand, but after a while the door opened back up and the most incredible smell drifted into the apartment. Shadow walked back into the room laden with food: a plate stacked high with pancakes in one hand and one piled with bacon in the other. On her fingers she was balancing a bottle of syrup and a gallon of chocolate milk which she set down on the coffee table.  
  
Johnny’s mouth watered as he looked at the spread, all fresh cooked and homemade by the look of it. Shadow rummaged in the tiny kitchen for a bit before returning with a couple of glasses, plates, and forks, which she set amongst the food. She sat down cross legged at one end of the coffee table and filled two glasses with chocolate milk before picking up a piece of bacon and fixing a curious look on him.  
  
“Go ahead and eat, kid,” she said around a mouthful of bacon.  
  
Johnny didn’t hesitate, piling his plate with food as fast as he could grab it. Everything was delicious. The bacon was crisp and salty and the pancakes were sprinkled through with melting chocolate chips and tart blueberries. It was by far the best breakfast he had ever had, the best thing he had ever tasted at all.  
  
“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick,” Shadow interjected. He tried to heed her warning a bit, but it wasn’t much use. Within a few minutes he sat back happily on the couch, having torn through half a dozen pancakes and most of the bacon. His fingers felt a bit sticky from the syrup so he rested the back of his hand on the ball of copper wire balanced on his lap. He was starting to feel sleepy again, also a bit sick and dizzy from eating so much so fast, but he was determined to keep it down--it was too good to waste. Shadow studied him thoughtfully for a minute, munching on a pancake folded in half like a taco. Then she stood up and went into the little kitchen, returning with a damp towel which Johnny accepted gratefully to wipe down his hands and face.  
  
“Here,” she said after a moment. He looked up to see her hand outstretched, offering something else. There was a tiny pill in her palm and a glass of water in her other hand. He eyed her warily and she let out an easy laugh. “Easy, kid. It’s just a Tylenol. It’ll bring down the swelling in your face.”  
  
Johnny experimentally twitched one corner of his mouth. The pain was definitely still there, but not as bad. Truthfully, he had been so caught up in breakfast he had forgotten about anything else. He studied her for a moment more, trying to figure out if she was trying to drug him. But she seemed genuine, she felt trustworthy for some reason he couldn’t explain. He took the pill from her and swallowed it down with some water. She gave him a satisfied smile before starting to clean up the plates on the table.  
  
“Your name is…Shadow, right?” Johnny offered tentatively. He usually kept quiet, even the gang teased him about silent he was, but now he found couldn’t keep the words back.  
  
“You are correct,” she replied, moving to deposit the dishes in the sink.  
  
“You told me last night that you could help me,” he continued. “That you’d teach me to control whatever this is.” Johnny looked down at his hands, feeling the energy buzzing dully in his fingertips. “What you said...was it true?” He looked up at her. She paused for a moment before turning to face him, leaning her hips against the kitchen counter. She gave him a solemn nod.  
  
“Yeah,” she said. “I keep my promises, kid, you don’t have to worry about that.” There was something in her voice that Johnny couldn’t quite place, as though she were remembering something from long ago.  
  
“But--” she continued more cheerfully, stepping away from the counter, “you don’t have to worry about that right now. Your powers aren’t going anywhere and you look like you’re about to fall over. Get some more sleep, and then we can talk all you want.” She crossed the room and opened the door to the stairway, telling him over her shoulder, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be upstairs.”  
  
Johnny thought about protesting; there were a million questions buzzing inside of his head. What were these powers? Would they always be so strong? How on earth could he control them? How many people like them were out there? But, he could also feel the pull of sleep sinking down on him, drawing him deeper into the softness of the couch. He stretched back out, grateful for a chance to sleep undisturbed, still half convinced that this was all some sort of bizarre dream. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.


	4. Shadow

Shadow tried to focus on the screen of her laptop, which was proving increasingly difficult over the soft grumbles of disapproval drifting to her across the kitchen table.  
  
“Can I help you with something?” she finally snapped, her patience tipping over the edge.  
  
Mr. Baker levelled an annoyed look at her over his newspaper, then carefully and deliberately folded it up and set it on the table. Oh great, Shadow thought. She knew when a lecture was coming on.  
  
She had been living with the Bakers for the better part of two years. They were a nice couple, in their late sixties with warm personalities and plump frames that suited their generous nature. Although they didn’t have powers themselves, their son, Billy, was a mutant, which was where Shadow came in. She specialized in keeping people like him off the radar, every radar that would that mark him as a mutant. Anyone with known powers draws unwanted attention, but in recent years it was getting even more dangerous. There was some sort of faceless government organization actively hunting mutants, taking them into custody never to be seen again. It was an ongoing war, and Shadow worked hard to keep every one of their kind off the grid. Unfortunately, Billy had mistaken Shadow’s work as an invitation for something romantic before she corrected such absurdity. Since then, he had moved several states away to start a new life, but Shadow still kept tabs on him, doing what she could to monitor his activity with contacts she had in the area and making sure he didn’t spring up as a person of interest in multiple government databases that she had long ago hacked into.  
  
The Bakers owned a small bakery and coffee shop not far from the downtown business district, the irony of their profession in relation to their name something Shadow frequently enjoyed pointing out. It was roosted in a townhouse style building, with the cafe on the ground floor with additional apartments above and below the shop. Early on, they had given Shadow full use of the downstairs apartment for her work, but even after their son had left they insisted that she stay. Shadow had become a sort of daughter to them, although too reckless and wild to ever bend to any form of parental guidance. She would disappear for days at a time without notice to infiltrate information systems or set up surveillance, especially when new mutants were found or started disappearing. Shadow had grown to love the little shop, an unassuming island of normality in her otherwise chaotic world. She also cared for the Bakers deeply and would always listen to their well-meant advice, even if she had no intention of following it.  
  
Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling of annoyance as she watched Mr. Baker gear himself up to lecture her. They had been sitting quietly in the kitchen of the upstairs apartment for a while, Shadow hacking into the public school system’s records to find out more about Johnny and Mr. Baker pretending to read the newspaper as he sent waves of tension her way.  
  
“Shadow,” he began, tapping his hand lightly on his folded newspaper, “I know you have a good heart, but you can’t just take kids in off the street.”  
  
“Why not?” she demanded. “He was scared, alone, just got his powers and didn’t know what was going on. Was I supposed to just leave him there?”  
  
“He’s not your responsibility,” Mr. Baker replied tersely. His grey hair and square face gave him the perfect air of a disapproving father. “Besides,” he continued, “what will his family think when he doesn’t show up for a few days? You really want a missing child report popping up?”  
  
Shadow pictured Johnny, a too-skinny kid with a bloodied shirt and a face so swollen and cut up from a terrible beating that it was unrecognizable. When she gave him clean clothes to change into for the night, she couldn’t help but notice the bruises and faded scars that peppered the skin on his arms, most too old and faded to be recent.  
  
“I don’t think they’re the missing-child-report type,” she said.  
  
“You don’t know that.”  
  
“You didn’t see him.” Shadow shot him a piercing look that she hoped would drive her point home. Johnny was still sleeping downstairs and Shadow had only told the Bakers the story this morning.  
  
“Well, I don’t think you of all people should be taking on a child,” Mr. Baker retorted, apparently at a loss for a better argument.  
  
“He’s not an infant. And what is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“It means,” she could tell he was choosing his words carefully, “that you aren’t always the most stable person. With the work you do...you’re gone all the time. You put yourself in dangerous situations.”  
  
Shadow slapped her laptop shut and let out a laugh, looking at him incredulously. “So I find this kid in the middle of the night, beaten half to death and dealing with powers that make him a danger to himself and everyone around him, and you think I’m, what, planning on adopting him? I doubt I’m even ten years older than he is.”  
  
Mr. Baker stared at her in silence for a few moments as though she were a sum he was trying to add up in his head. “You need to take him to Ivankov,” he said finally.  
  
Shadow tried to push the image of the eccentric mutant out of her mind. He was a genius, to be sure, and the head of their little impromptu intelligence organization, but he could be a bit much to handle at times. “Not yet.”  
  
Mr. Baker cocked an eyebrow at her and Shadow shrugged in defence. “The kid must be going through a bit of shock,” she said. “Let’s just give him a couple of days to calm down and adjust, yeah? He doesn’t need to be scared off just yet.” Shadow also knew that if she brought him to Ivankov, Johnny might not come back again. Ivankov valued privacy and secrecy more than anyone, especially when it came to new mutants, so there was a strong chance he would keep Johnny at his little compound permanently.  
  
Shadow stood up from the table, snatching her laptop up with her.  
  
“Where are you going?” Mr. Baker asked.  
  
“Coffee,” Shadow mumbled. “And some more sensible company,” she called over her shoulder as she headed downstairs. Mr. Baker replied with a grunt and a shuffle of paper as he returned to his reading.  
  
The back of the house was connected by a small staircase which joined the two apartments and branched off in between with a landing that lead into the cafe. The warm smell of fresh coffee and scones wrapped soothingly around her as Shadow pushed through the door and into the tiny shop. This private entrance dumped her behind the counter, where Mrs. Baker was humming softly as she wiped down an espresso machine.Where her husband was more like various squares stacked on top of one another, Mrs. Baker was comprised of soft circles. Even her hair fell in rainy grey curls around her cheery face.  
  
The only other people in the shop were a young hipster couple chatting idly at a table by the window, sipping on whipped cream laden frappuccinos, and a disgruntled novelist tucked away in the far corner, typing furiously. Shadow helped herself to a mug of fresh brewed dark roast, preferring to drink it black, and sat down cross legged at a table nearest to the counter.  
  
“How’s he doing?” Mrs. Baker asked.  
  
“Good,” Shadow replied. “Still sleeping. I gave him a Tylenol and he passed right out.”  
  
Mrs. Baker smiled softly. “I remember Billy had such a hard time adjusting when it happened to him. He must’ve slept for a week after we calmed him down.”  
  
“Well, your breakfast definitely helped,” Shadow replied. “I mean, I know nations go to war for you pancakes, but today they were especially good.”  
  
Mrs. Baker clasped a hand dramatically over her heart. “My word, you actually ate some?”  
  
Shadow flashed her a smirk. For the most part, she was absorbed in her work in a state of obsession, mostly surviving on a steady diet of black coffee. Mrs. Baker often teased that without them, Shadow would forget to eat entirely and gradually waste away, which may not be entirely untrue. Either way, no one could deny that the Bakers could cook. Shadow had never experienced a bad recipe from either of them as long as she’d known them. Mr. Baker was a specialist in muffins, cakes, and a few choice dinners, while Mrs. Baker made scones, breakfasts, and meals from scratch that were to die for.  
  
“Your husband was annoying me, though,” Shadow continued. “I think he wants me to toss the kid back out into the street as soon as he wakes up.”  
  
Mrs. Baker chuckled. “He’s a worrier, dear, that’s his way. He’s concerned about that boy, too, that’s just how he shows it.”  
  
Shadow replied with a noncommittal grunt. The program she had been running on her laptop had finally broken the password for the public school records. She ran a search grid for the names ‘John,’ ‘Johnny,’ and ‘Jonathan,’ sorting out the younger elementary school grades. From there, she scrolled through school ID photos until she came across the familiar face. In the picture he was flashing a shy half-smile at the camera, his hair sticking up haphazardly, though not in a bad way. According to the record, he was a freshman at Prospect Hill High School and would be turning 15 on September 3rd. He had mediocre grades and a slight record for truancy that she couldn’t blame him for given what she deduced about his past. She took a screenshot of his file and ran a quick search of his home address before shutting her laptop.  
  
“I’m going spelunking,” she called to Mrs. Baker as she made her way to the back stairs. It was a term they used whenever Shadow was going into the field to gather intelligence. Mrs. Baker gave her a worried glance.  
  
“Be careful,” she called.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere dangerous,” Shadow replied. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” 

 

There was something limitless about her powers, a liberation that pulled her in and made the world seem to fall to her control. Shadow was the right word for it, she had chosen her name specifically, because for her, her powers were what defined her. It was as if her body would rather be nothing than anything at all, a continuous pull that nagged her to leave the physical world behind. When she had first discovered her powers, she thought for sure that she had died. She was a ghost, there was no other explanation. No corporeal form, just a smudge of dark space lingering amidst the physical world. But she could still feel everything, still see everything. Little by little she focused her energy and found that if she concentrated hard enough, she could will parts of her body back into physical form, back into flesh and blood. After years, keeping a physical form was second nature, but a small secret part of her couldn’t shake the worry that if she let her guard down for a moment that she might drift away entirely.  
  
After years of practice she had become creative in testing the limits of her powers. Although not invisible, she could hover unseen tucked away in a corner, making her ideal for surveillance. She could pass through the tiniest crack in a doorway or the screen of a window, anything that wasn’t sealed. She could fly across distances faster than running, although fly wasn’t the right word for it. Flying was the pressure of air rushing around you, lifting into the sky. This was just movement. This was being a ghost. This was slipping across pavement like water flowing downhill. She had also developed more elaborate tricks, sending little tendrils of herself out and away, like phantasmic little drones. A wisp of herself planted in a room could tell her as much information as she could gather from sitting in there herself, sensations of sight and sound and depth as vivid as her own eyes. And in the last year or so, she had been practicing phasing just enough of herself into the physical world that she could interact with objects while still incorporeal, nudging them across tables or switching lights on and off. She was determined to practice until she mastered that skill.

 

Shadow approached the little house slowly, soaking in the sight of rusted hubcaps and beer cans littering the dull yellow grass. The porch sagged in disrepair from years of weather and the white paint was peeling off the wood like blistered skin. Even from here she could smell a faint but pervasive smell of rot: old alcohol and mold and rust surrounded the place like a fine mist.  
  
She paused, hovering in the shadow of a nearby tree as a woman walked tersely up to the porch, the cheap leopard print of her tasteless dress moving strangely against her scrawny frame. Shadow caught a glimpse of long fluorescent red nails as she slammed the screen door shut behind her. Silently, Shadow followed, slipping easily through the holes torn in the mesh of the door and hovering ghost-like in the tiny kitchen.  
  
Inside the house was even worse, dirty dishes and trash strewn carelessly around the floors and counters. The tiny kitchen turned abruptly into an even smaller living room just a few feet in, and Shadow could see broken glass on the floor next to an overturned table as though an altercation had taken place. The woman started as a thick, greasy man rose suddenly out a crumpled armchair, a baseball bat clutched in his hand. His watery eyes were wild and bloodshot.  
  
“Jesus!” the woman shrieked. “What the hell is that for?” The man lowered his bat and slumped heavily back into his chair, turning to face a dull television screen.  
  
“Thought you were the boy,” he slurred heavily.  
  
“Why, what has he done now?” the woman snapped, walking over to throw her clutch purse on the counter. She lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter, taking a long drag as she waited for a response. “Well?” she demanded when he didn’t answer.  
  
“If that little freak ever shows his face here again….” the man spat, more to himself than his wife. One hand was absently rubbing slow circles across his chest and Shadow could see a mark of bright red there, as though he had been burned. His other hand tightened around the bat. The woman rolled her eyes and let out a huff, clicking her way across the floor and into the bathroom.  
  
Shadow had seen enough, slipping silently back out the screen door and away from the tattered house. Whatever happened next, she reassured herself of one thing: that kid would never be forced to go live in that house again.


	5. Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and sharks

Johnny woke on the couch in the basement apartment, surprised to see the last rays of pink sunlight disappearing into darkness outside the window. He stretched his sore limbs, pleased to find himself feeling well rested despite some lingering pain. After taking a few minutes to readjust to his surroundings, he noticed a note tacked onto the door at the end of the couch. In sharp slanting letters it said,  
Sparky, when you wake up come upstairs. SECOND landing, not the first. -Shadow.  
Johnny couldn’t suppress a small smile at the new nickname for him scrawled on the note, but as he looked at the door he felt a twinge of apprehension twist his stomach.  
  
He had never liked facing the unknown. Routine was safe, routine meant he could see what was coming, that he could have time to dodge it if need be. So little of his life was routine, it was almost all painful chaos. The thought of opening a strange door and not knowing exactly what was waiting for him behind it was almost too much to handle, and he felt his hand start to tingle with that strange new energy that never seemed to go away. Something sharp poked his finger and he was surprised to find the little ball of copper wire still clutched in his hand. He’d forgotten all about it, but the weight of the tiny ball soothed him. Whatever waited behind that door wouldn’t be bad, he told himself, he was safe here.  
  
Up the stairs was a landing with another white door sporting a note which read  
Not this one. Keep going. -Shadow.  
Johnny felt a little tug of curiosity and couldn’t stop himself from turning the handle and lightly pressing the door open. The inside room was dark as the evening light faded, but he was surprised to see that it was a little cafe, apparently closed for the night. He shut the door quietly and headed up another short flight of steps to where a final door was cracked open, the soft murmur of voices drifting out.  
  
The apartment on the upper floor was a stark contrast to the one downstairs. Although the layouts were the same, where the basement was a minimalist mix of cool greys and blacks, the upper apartment was cozy and cluttered. The peach walls and light brown countertops reflected the yellow incandescent lights and filled the kitchen with a warm glow. There were curtains patterned with bright sunflowers hanging over the window and ceramic chickens nestled in the sill. Something was baking in the oven just below, filling the room with a rich and hearty aroma.  
  
Johnny pushed the door open and stood awkwardly in the bright kitchen. A plump grey-haired woman wearing an apron was busily assembling a pie on the countertop. Just behind her was a small wooden table where an even plumper and greyer man was seated, having a conversation with Shadow who was curled up cross-legged in the chair next to him. She looked up and flashed Johnny a wide grin, quirking up one eyebrow.  
  
“Hey kid, there you are,” she said. “I was starting to think I might’ve killed you with that Tylenol.” She untangled her legs and nudged the chair nearest Johnny out with her foot. Johnny hesitated, eyeing the strange old couple warily; he didn’t like strangers. Shadow must have noticed because she immediately leaned back in her chair and tilted her head toward the pair. “These here are the Bakers,” she said. “They own the place and run the coffee shop downstairs. They also made those pancakes you wolfed down this morning.”  
  
“Are...are they like us?” Johnny asked, taking a small hesitant step into the room.  
  
“No, but we have a son that is,” Mrs. Baker chimed, shooting Johnny a warm smile as she carefully folded strips of crust onto the pie.  
  
When Johnny still didn’t move, Shadow chimed in, “Don’t worry, Johnny, we can trust ‘em.” He gave her one last appraising look before taking a seat at the table.  
  
It was a surreal feeling, sitting in this cozy kitchen. Though his face still hurt and was swollen, Johnny was comfortable, wearing clean clothes and feeling more rested than he had in weeks. He watched as Mrs. Baker finished her pie and Mr. Baker got up to help her wipe down the counter. When Mrs. Baker’s back was turned, the older man tossed a piece of unused dough at Shadow who tore it in half, popping one piece in her mouth and sliding the second across the table to Johnny with a wink. This was what a family must be like, he thought as he bit into the sweet dough, no one roughhousing or sleeping off booze or slapping him as he came around the corner, just warmth.  
  
“Hey,” Shadow said softly, so only he could hear. He looked over to find her gaze fixed on him in earnest. “We will talk, I promise. Right as soon as supper’s done. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Johnny nodded, silently rolling the copper ball between his fingers. 

  


Dinner, if possible, was even better than breakfast. Although he still felt a little uncomfortable eating in a strange place with even stranger people, he found himself forgetting his wariness as the meal went on. It was a casserole of some sort, with scalloped potatoes loaded down with cheese on the top and large chunks of chicken and vegetables simmering in a gravy-like sauce underneath. Mrs. Baker claimed to have invented the recipe herself and Johnny ate as many helpings as he could until the dish was gone.  
  
Not once did any of them pry Johnny with questions about his own life, which he was grateful for. Talking about his life in the midst of this would have been like summoning a storm cloud to block out a summer sun. He could tell they were deliberately trying to make him feel at ease by keeping the conversation light and humorous; the two Bakers and Shadow spent the meal cracking jokes and telling stories about one another and Johnny could feel himself relaxing in spite of himself. Mr. Baker took particular delight in one story about Shadow not knowing how to cook.  
  
“She can’t even make toast,” he said, waving a fork at her. “One night, I smelled smoke and came running out in the kitchen thinking the house was on fire. There she is, standing there with the most charcoal black piece of bread I ever did see. She looked me dead serious in the eye and goes ‘I like it black.’ Then she took the most dramatic bite and ran back downstairs.”  
  
Shadow was laughing so hard that even Johnny couldn’t help but join, although his ribs smarted with every breath.  
  
“That’s why I only have Keurig in my apartment,” she told Johnny once she caught her breath. “The plates and stuff are just for show.”  
  
After a dessert round of apple pie and vanilla ice cream, even the persistent prickling of energy in Johnny’s arms and legs settled down to a contented hum. He felt he could fall asleep right there even if he had spend the day napping. Shadow cleared his plate away and handed it off to Mr. Baker who began to rinse off the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Mrs. Baker disappeared into a hall leading to the other rooms and returned a minute later with a small bundle of clothes, neatly folded.  
  
“Here, I washed these for you, dear.” she said, placing the bundle in front of Johnny. He recognized his jean jacket, grey t-shirt, and pants, all clean and pressed. She must have scrubbed for hours to get all of the blood out of it, Johnny thought. He was about to thank her when he noticed Shadow studying him.  
  
“I think...let’s go downstairs, yeah?” she said, standing up. Johnny had nearly forgotten her promise to talk. He felt a tingling wave run down his arms and settle in his fingertips, from anticipation or apprehension, he couldn’t tell. He was finally going to get some answers. She started toward the door and he stood to follow her, scooping up his clothes. On the way out, he stopped suddenly, turning back to face the Bakers.  
  
“Thank you,” he said. “for...for everything.” He felt a flush of heat spread across his cheeks and he turned on his heels to scurry down the stairs without waiting to see how they responded. 

  


He followed Shadow down into the basement apartment, wishing that they didn’t have to leave the cheery atmosphere of the bright kitchen, although he felt better about talking without worrying about the Bakers overhearing it. Even so, the cool greys and blacks of the walls and furniture reminded him that the conversation was about to become much more serious.  
  
“Just set your stuff anywhere,” Shadow said over her shoulder as she moved to the back table. Johnny gingerly placed his clothes on the coffee table as he watched her hurriedly sweep papers and books into messy piles and deposit them on the shelves. When she was done, she caught his eye and nodded toward one of the seats at the table, which he quickly moved to sit in. She turned away briefly to busily rummage through one of the boxes on the shelf, apparently searching for something. Finally, she pulled a large file folder out of the box, thick and bulging with documents which she tossed onto the empty table.  
  
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “You’re one of us now, and I’m gonna do everything I can to help you understand what that means. You can ask me any questions and I’ll do my best to answer them. There are some things that I can’t tell you for secrecy's sake, but I won’t ever lie to you. Alright?”  
  
Johnny gave a quick nod. Shadow shifted a bit in her seat and her brow furrowed. “Some of the stuff I have to tell you won’t be easy to hear,” she continued. “Not only are you going to have to learn to control your powers, but there are a lot of threats out there that you’re going to have to deal with too. The bottom line is, you’re a target now, and there are people that will try to hurt you just because you’re a mutant.” She must have seen the flicker of fear cross Johnny’s eyes at that last line because she softened her face. “But that’s why we stick together. Don’t worry. Everything is going to change, but you won’t be alone.”  
  
Johnny had been so preoccupied with just living from moment to moment the last 24 hours he hadn’t even considered that his life might change now that he had these powers. Everything would have to change. No more nights wandering the vacant lots and looking up at the stars. No more waking up early Saturday mornings to go play some football with the guys. Maybe he would never get to see the gang again. What if he hurt them? But then again...maybe there would be no more getting jumped on the street. Or beatings from the Old Man. What if he never had to set foot in that house again? He felt a lump form in his stomach as he wondered what his parents would think...if they would even miss him or start to worry when he didn’t ever come back. He tried to picture either of them with even a bit of concern but couldn’t conjure the image. The Old Man had been near dead when he had left, maybe he couldn’t ever go back even if he wanted to. But maybe it didn’t matter. Shadow had said ‘we’ stick together. Who knew how many of their kind were out there? Maybe this would be the start of a new life. Maybe he could just walk out of his old world and into this new one, filled with people like Shadow who were strange and powerful like he was.  
  
“So, where do you want to start?” Shadow asked, her voice snapping him back to the present. Johnny felt dizzy with questions, so many were filling up his brain like a swarm of bees tucked in a hive. He didn’t know what to focus on first. He never had been very good at asking questions, always preferring to keep quiet and observe to stay out of trouble. He felt the tingling sensation surge a bit in his hands and looked down at them, watching the copper ball roll around in his palm while he tried to organize his thoughts.  
  
“What...is this?” he finally asked, looking up at her. “Where did these powers come from? Why did they come? Why now? Why me?” He couldn’t seem to stem the flow of questions rattling faster and faster from him. “Why are your powers different? Are they all different? How many of us are there? What--”  
  
“Woah, woah,” Shadow said, interrupting him with a smirk. “Why don’t--maybe I should just start by laying out some of the basics for you.” Johnny nodded and sat back, a little embarrassed by his outburst. The lights in the room seemed to dim just a shade and he wondered if he had been causing them to flare up in his excitement.  
  
“Alright, let's see--” Shadow began, rubbing her neck in thought. “So i don't really know how to explain it at a scientific level, but there’s some marker in the genes, some anomaly that’s triggered usually around puberty, but it can be jumpstarted by trauma.” She nodded at him. “I think you're probably the latter, but it's hard to tell.” Johnny ran his fingertips experimentally over the left side of his face. It was still swollen and sore, but the large cuts were starting to scab over.  
  
“Which was yours?” he blurted, immediately kicking himself. That was probably too personal to ask.  
  
“Trauma,” she said simply. Johnny felt more questions rise to the back of his throat but Shadow plowed on, apparently not wanting to dwell on the subject. “As soon as the gene becomes active, the powers come, usually all at once.” She flashed him a smirk. “Which you’ve probably realized by now.”  
  
They spent the next few hours going over exactly what it meant to have these powers. Shadow explained everything with efficiency, not dwelling on long drawn out details but also not skimming over the subject. She explained that every power presented differently, each one unique to an individual. Some were harmless and easy to hide, and Johnny couldn’t help but laugh as she described one man whose power was to communicate with hamsters. Other powers, she said, were downright dangerous. People who could cause earthquakes or spit poison or create powerful hallucinations. There were also mutations that were impossible to hide--changes in skin color or the growth of fur or spiky quills that distorted your appearance so you had no choice but to go into hiding. The world was full of mutants, it seemed to Johnny, all hiding in plain sight. The possibilities were endless, which was why no one was sure exactly how many were out there.  
  
“I hate to tell you this, Johnnycake, but your powers are definitely on the dangerous end of the spectrum,” Shadow said. “From what I’ve seen, they’re powerful and if you’re not careful you could kill somebody.” Johnny thought of the Old Man lying motionless on the floor and felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “Especially right now because you don’t have any idea how to control them,” she continued. “You get spooked and you short circuit everything around you.”  
  
He wanted to protest, but the tingling in his fingers reminded him that she was right. All it would take is someone behind him to yell ‘Boo!’ and he could let out a surge that could kill them. What if it was one of the gang? Could he ever be around them again without waiting tensely to go off? He squeezed the copper ball tighter in his hand.  
“You can’t depend on that for a crutch forever,” Shadow said, nodding at the ball. “Eventually you’ll be stuck without it and then you’d better know how to control your powers. That’s why you’re gonna train.”  
  
“Train?” Johnny asked. He imagined himself climbing over a military obstacle course, his head shaved and wearing camouflage and zapping anything that came close.  
  
“Don’t worry,” she replied, apparently noticing his discomfort. “We’re not gonna hook you up in the basement like a little lab rat and run experiments on you.We’ll just play around for a while. I’ve got some friends who specialize in this sort of thing. You’ll learn to control your powers physically, mentally, and emotionally. I also want to test your limits a bit. Honestly, you’re still hot off the presses, so I don’t know if you can keep a bulb lit for more than a minute or if you can light a city block.”  
  
Johnny tried to feel out the depths of his powers, trying to gauge their strength from the energy buzzing through his limbs, but they merely tingled silently, offering no clue to their depths. He realized Shadow had become quiet and looked up to see her leveling a solemn look at him.  
  
“This all comes with a catch, kid,” she said. Something about her voice made Johnny shiver although he was not cold. She readjusted herself on her seat as though uncomfortable. “Whenever someone different pops up, there’s….hostility. There are people who react badly to it, people out there who hate us just for us. They feel threatened, and they’re not wrong. So they’re…” she swallowed, “they’re hunting us.” Johnny felt his blood turn to ice. Shadow always seemed good natured, always on the verge of humor, but there was no escaping her seriousness on this.  
  
“We call them Sharks,” she said, opening the thick file folder. She pushed a photograph toward him. It was a bit blurry as though it has been taken from a distance or in motion showing an unassuming man in a long grey trench coat. He seemed like any other businessman, Johnny thought. “They have ways to detect us,” she continued, “to tell what we are. And once they get a lock on you,” she shuffled the photograph to reveal another beneath it, “they take you.”  
  
The next photo was one of an apartment. The door was hanging off of one hinges, the furniture kicked over and a lamp smashed on the floor. There was a small smattering of blood staining the carpet as though someone had been hit there. Johnny felt a small wave of pain flash in his face, though it might have been a memory. He nudged the picture with his fingertips, revealing an image of a man being pushed inside of a car, a black sack placed over his head like he was a criminal in some old spy movie.  
  
“Where do they take them?” Johnny breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
“We don’t know,” Shadow shook her head sadly. “They must want us for something because they’re always taken alive. Probably experimentation of some kind. All we know is once you’re black bagged, you don’t come back.”  
  
Johnny felt the knot in his stomach tighten. All this time he had been worried about petty gang fights, about getting hit by the Old Man or jumped on the street. This was so much worse.  
  
“That’s where my work comes in,” Shadow continued, a hard edge of determination in her voice. “I make sure people like this never find us. We think they’re either some secret part of the government or a private company. Either way, they have a scary amount of resources at their disposal. They watch for police reports, hospital records, even newspaper clippings to try and find us. I hack into those systems to keep us off their radar as much as possible.”  
  
Johnny was starting to feel dizzy as he tried to sort through this mountain of new threats. Not only was he a danger to everyone with this energy that he couldn’t hope to control, but now he would be targeted for it. Every time he walked down the street now there was a chance he could be picked up by these faceless goons and whisked off somewhere no one would ever find him. Even if he never left this room again he would still be in danger. The thought of being jumped by a group of socs seemed far away.  
  
“It’s not fair,” he said quietly. His vision blurred with tears and his eyes stung, but he didn’t want to blink and let them fall. It wasn’t fair that this had happened to him, that he had these powers he couldn’t control. It wasn’t fair that he would spend the rest of his life on edge because he was being hunted like an animal. It wasn’t fair that even before that he was hunted and beaten just because he lived on the wrong end of town. It wasn’t fair that he grew up in a run-down house being beaten and ignored. It wasn’t fair that there were kids just across town that would never have to deal with any of this. Kids that would wake up tomorrow morning safe and bored and whose worlds wouldn’t be turned upside down. Sparks were flaring off Johnny’s fingertips like a lighter trying to sputter to life. He pulled his hands away from the folder so nothing would catch on fire and squeezed the ball tighter until the copper cut into his skin. Shadow watched him quietly.  
  
“I know,” she murmured after a while. “People like us catch all the hard breaks.” Johnny assumed that she was referring to people with powers, but when he looked up at her, he saw a hard glint in her eye as though she were looking at something in the past. She said she got her powers from trauma, Johnny remembered, maybe the two of them had more in common than he thought. After a moment Shadow seemed to focus back on the present, and she gave Johnny a small half smile. “But, hey, that’s why we stick together, right?”  
  
She rubbed a hand across the side of her face with a sigh. “I’m sorry, kid, I don’t mean to scare you with all this, but I told you I wouldn’t lie to you and you need to know what’s out there. You just have to keep an eye out.” Johnny took a deep breath and tried to stem the sparks still falling sporadically from his skin. Shadow studied him for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip as though thinking something over.  
  
“You’re going to be alright, Johnny,” she reassured him. “I’ll look out for you.” Despite the weight of fear sitting like a stone in the pit of his stomach, Johnny allowed himself to believe her.


	6. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one. Shadow is bad at expressing emotions. Gotta get through all this set up before I can advance a plot...

Shadow paced restlessly, the sound of her footsteps fading softly into the carpet of the apartment. She sent out a tendril of her powers to scope out the area, feeling through the building, then the alley outside, then the street, mapping out every detail of the space. The sunset bathed the building in brilliant gold and orange light, but there was no trace of the shape she was looking for. She collected herself with a growl of frustration, heading upstairs to where the Bakers were closing the shop for the night. Mrs. Baker looked up from the machine she was wiping down as Shadow entered.  
  
“Anything?” she asked.  
  
“No,” Shadow replied, resuming her pacing. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the neighborhood, but so far no sign of him.”  
  
“Maybe he got lost?” Mrs. Baker offered. Or worse, Shadow thought, but she pushed the idea down.  
  
When Shadow had left that morning, Johnny had been asleep on the couch. She had work to do that couldn't wait--every few weeks, the police changed the security codes to access their national network of case files. It only took Shadow a few hours to crack through the new encrypted system without detection, but it had to be done promptly and within range of their system, as even a short span of not monitoring the files could allow a mutant to slip through. By the time she returned home after running some of the reports to Ivankov, Johnny was gone. He had left his borrowed clothes folded haphazardly on the table, as though he were trying to be polite but wasn’t quite sure how to fold them. Neither of the Bakers had seen him leave, which meant he could only have been gone for a few hours before anyone noticed his absence. Shadow tried to ignore the pang of panic gnawing at her stomach.  
  
“Maybe you should spread your search a bit farther?” Mrs. Baker prompted. “I’m sure he’s somewhere in town.”  
  
Shadow shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t know where to start.” That was lie. She knew the first instinct for anyone would be to return home, so she had already made a sweep of the little run-down house. He wasn’t there, and there was no evidence of any sort of struggle, leaving her to conclude thankfully that he had been smart enough to avoid it.  
  
“Besides I--” Shadow started, but she was unsure how to put it into words. She had this feeling, this sense that he was fine. Maybe she trusted that he was smart enough to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble. But there was something else--a sense of hunting down a frightened animal. Chasing Johnny down and keeping tabs on him would make him feel trapped, not that she could explain it to Mrs. Baker. Shadow understood that primal feeling of instinct, so she knew that if he was going to come back, he would return on his own.  
  
“He’ll come back,” she said finally, reassuring herself as much as Mrs. Baker. “He’ll come back.” But the sun was getting low on the horizon.  
  
Shadow paused suddenly, like a rabbit catching wind of a nearby predator. She could feel a subtle change outside and let more of herself flow into the air, probing it to get a better sense. She felt it, the bright buzzing pop of energy that told her immediately it was Johnny. He was walking steadily but tersely, she could tell the unfamiliar surroundings still made him uncomfortable. The way he carried himself told her that he was still in some pain, but he didn’t seem to be freshly hurt or overly stressed. He made his way around the back of the building and down the stairwell toward the lower apartment. Shadow went down immediately, flowing into the space without pausing to check who saw her use her powers.  
  
Johnny started when he entered the small apartment, as though surprised to see Shadow waiting for him. She tried to maintain her cool and confident demeanor by leaning casually against the kitchen counter, but she couldn’t help a small breath of relief seeing him step back into the apartment in one piece.  
  
“Hey, kid. Where’ve you been?” she asked, struggling to keep the tension out of her voice.  
  
Johnny looked sheepishly at the floor, lingering in the doorway. “I--I just needed to think,” he mumbled.  
  
A hundred objections rose to Shadow’s throat, but she pushed down the impulse to rattle them off. Flashes of scenarios flared through her mind: Johnny being swept up by a group of friends and shocking someone in surprise; him returning to that run-down house to his psychopath of a father swinging a bat at him; Johnny walking down the street only to have a black bag slipped over his head. She wanted to demand answers, to know exactly where he had been, but she steeled herself with a deep breath. You’re not his parent, she reminded herself. It’s not your business to tell him what to do. Besides, she knew he wouldn’t respond to being drilled with questions. If she wanted him to trust her, she would have to let him adjust on his own terms. Everything was moves and countermoves in a delicate game.  
  
“We just, ah--I wondered if you were gonna come back,” Shadow managed lamely.  
  
Johnny shot her a quizzical look. “Was I...was I not supposed to?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I--” She let out a sigh, trying to unscramble her thoughts and put them into words. “Look, kid, you’re not a prisoner here. I’m not gonna keep you here if you don’t want to stay. You can walk out that door any time and I won’t stop you.” She paused, trying to analyze how he was reacting, whether she was driving him away. “That being said, if you did want to stay...you’re more than welcome to. I mean it.” Johnny was watching her carefully, sizing up every word she said.  
  
“You didn’t go back to that house of yours today, did you?” Shadow asked. Johnny shook his head, frowning at unseen memories.  
  
“Good,” she said quickly. Johnny shot her a questioning look, quirking his head slightly at her. “I may have taken a peek at your records and stopped by where you live,” Shadow confessed. The image of broken glass and a thick hand clutching a baseball bat flashed in her mind. “Johnny, you’re not going to be safe there,” she said solemnly. “From what I saw...if you don’t want to go back…” She shifted her weight awkwardly on her feet, frustrated that her words were so muddled. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to go back there. Not ever. I’ve got a spare room. We can clean it out and put a bed in there. I know I’m not the most dependable person in the world...but I probably know better than anyone what you’re going through.”  
  
Johnny opened his mouth and closed it again, knitting his eyebrows together. Shadow could see him calculating, his eyes moving subtly as he thought the proposition through.  
  
“So?” She prompted, causing him to jump a little at the sudden break in tension.  
  
“Yeah--yes,” he said quickly, glancing down at his feet for a moment. When he looked back up, his mouth was curled in the tiniest hint of a smile. “You mean, I can just live here now? Just like that?”  
  
Shadow shot him a smirk. “Yeah, kid. Just like that.” Johnny nodded at her, returning her smile. Shadow let out a sigh. She felt strangely drained for such a short conversation, like she had been holding a weight all day and was finally able to put it down. She turned to the kitchen, hoping a cup of coffee would help normalize her.  
  
“Hey, Shadow?” Johnny prompted quietly. “You and the Bakers...did I really make you worry today when I left?”  
  
Shadow paused, setting the mug she had just retrieved from the cupboard gently onto the countertop. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, you did a bit.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”  
  
The quiet tone of his voice resonated with a pain that hit Shadow to the core. She pictured Johnny, a sweet, timid, too-skinny kid left to rot in that ramshackle house, growing up in a world where he could disappear and not expect a single person to come looking for him. She gave him a soft, appraising smile, taking in the details of rough appearance--the holes worn through his jacket, the sharp lines cut into his face that were just starting to scar over. “That’s what family is for,” she said softly.  
  
For a moment, the two of them simply stood there, drinking in the serenity of the cool room. Shadow cleared her throat to bring them back to reality. “Okay so ground rules,” she said. “If you’re going to stay here, there’s some things you need to know.” Johnny nodded solemnly and stepped further into the apartment, paying careful attention. “I think you gathered this from when we talked last night, but the most important rule is not to let anyone know you’re a mutant. That includes using your powers in public. Keep a low profile as much as you can and don’t tell anyone about it.” Johnny nodded, but Shadow knew she needed to drive the point home.  
  
“I’m serious,” she continued. “Even if they’re your best friends and you think you can trust them completely, it just takes one slip, one word to a friend of a friend and our cover is blown. The less people that know, the better.”  
  
“Wait,” Johnny interjected, “you mean I can still see my friends?”  
  
Shadow quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, you can still see your friends. I’ll train you, of course, so you don’t have to see them until you feel comfortable with your powers. But yeah, this isn’t a prison sentence, Johnnycake. You can have a life.” A few sparks glinted off his fingertips at that, and Shadow noticed a slightly nervous smile cross his face.  
  
“Now before you get too excited, that leads me to my next point,” she continued. “School. I want you to keep going. You’re not going to be a drop out.”  
  
Johnny opened his mouth in protest. “No! What, really? I mean, it’s too dangerous, isn’t it?”  
  
Shadow shot him a smirk. “Nice try, but you’re going to be fine, kid. You’ll be surprised at how fast you learn to control your powers. Besides, if you keep skipping school, they’ll put a warrant out for you on truancy. And what do you think’s gonna happen when the cops go talk to your folks and find out that you haven’t shown up in a while?” Johnny frowned and looked away. She had him on that one.  
  
“And, you know, education is important,” she continued, shuffling her feet awkwardly. “I don’t want to get on a soapbox here, but school is a luxury that I never got growing up.”  
  
“Really?” Johnny asked, his voice tinged with surprise. “But you’re so smart.”  
  
Shadow gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m a quick learner, but I’m self-taught. And before you get any bright ideas, I do not have the patience nor the skill to homeschool anyone.” Johnny cracked a smile at that, which Shadow counted as a point in her favor. “Oh, and I expect you to work at it, Johnny Cade,” she teased. “I have a feeling that you’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.” He shot a frown at her, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.  
  
“Oh, don’t tell me that this is the deal-breaker,” Shadow laughed. She extended her hand to him. “So, do we have a deal?” Johnny eyed her for a moment, then reluctantly shook her hand.  
  
“Good,” she said, flashing him a satisfied smirk. “Now, if you're up for it, there's somewhere I want to take you.”


	7. Johnny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cue training montage!

The night air was cold and crisp on his skin as they walked, as though winter were reminding them of its icy grip even into late spring. Johnny had rarely been to this part of the city, just a few blocks down from the Baker’s shop. He vaguely remembered there being a movie theater somewhere nearby that Ponyboy had talked him into going to one day, but the paranoia of being jumped had distracted him from enjoying anything. Although it wasn’t as high end as where the Socs usually were found, this was far outside their territory. But Shadow strode cool and confidently beside him, seeming to enjoy the walk.  
  
After a few blocks, she stopped abruptly in front of an aged and weathered building. The large glass window in the front displayed “Golden Gloves Boxing Gym” in painted red letters. Johnny felt a little lurch in his stomach as he read the sign; surely Shadow didn’t expect him to fight? To his dismay, she confidently pulled open the door and stood waiting for him to go in first, leaving him no choice but to step inside.  
  
The space was cavernous, the dim yellow lights revealing a square of hanging punching bags, mats, and haphazard benches. Equipment spilled over bins and hung around the walls next to faded posters of fights long past, and the pervasive smell of old wood and disinfectant told Johnny that the place was well cared for despite its age. The center of the space was dominated by one large boxing ring that looked as though it had once been official but had taken years of wear and tear--parts of the mat were discolored and there were sections of duct tape along the corners of the ropes. Despite the size of the gym, there seemed to be no one else around, and Johnny wondered briefly if he and Shadow had broken in. She stepped up behind him and gave a few low whistles which echoed like eerie birdsong in the space. After a moment, a figure emerged from one of the side rooms, wiping his hands with a white towel.  
  
The man was intimidating to say the least. He was extremely tall with thick and defined muscles, built like a professional athlete. His closely shaved head accented his dark skin, making him look strong and powerful, though his face revealed he was older, in his mid 30s at the very least. He shook his head with a soft smile as he made his way toward them.  
  
“You keep whistling at me like that and I’m going to become a trained dog,” he said, his baritone voice filling the gym.  
  
“That’s the idea,” Shadow smirked. The two hugged briskly and as they broke apart, Shadow nodded at Johnny, drawing the man's attention to him. “This is Johnny, the one I told you about.” He felt hot and nervous as the man looked him over, appraising him.  
  
“You look like you’ve been on the wrong end of a few fights,” the man said after a few moments. Johnny merely stared at the concrete floor, rolling his copper ball silently between his fingers.  
  
“I’m Wilson Sykes,” the man continued. “It’s nice to meet you, Johnny.” Johnny looked up, expecting to shy away from a handshake, but Sykes merely smiled warmly at him, keeping a respectful distance. Johnny realized he should probably say something polite, but as usual no words came to mind and his tongue felt dry and immovable. He gave a brief nod instead.  
  
Shadow shot him a smirk and bumped his shoulder as she walked by to lean casually against the boxing ring. “You don’t have to worry about Sykes, Johnnycake,” she said. “He may look tough, but the guy’s a regular Mother Theresa. Social worker by day, boxing instructor for wayward kids by night, all that on top of being a single dad.”  
  
“Plus, I have to take care of punk kids like this,” Sykes added, nodding at Shadow. “And yes,” he continued, looking at Johnny. “Before you ask, I’m a mutant. Just like you.” Johnny felt himself relax a little at that news, and a wave of curiosity washed over him as he wondered what spectacular powers must reside in the impressive man standing in front of him. Before he could ask, Sykes walked over to the counter of what looked like a check-in desk and grabbed a small bundle of clothes that were sitting there.  
  
“Here,” he said, tossing the bundle at Johnny who stumbled a bit but caught it. “There’s a locker room over there on the East wall. Those should fit you, and I laid out a few sizes of sneakers on the bench you can try.” Johnny shot a questioning look at Shadow, trying to riddle out what these new clothes meant and hoping his theory was wrong.  
  
“We’re training, remember?” Shadow told him. She must have noticed his look of apprehension, because she added, “Don’t worry, kid, you’re not gonna do much until those cracked ribs of yours heal up, so we’re not gonna put you through the ringer just yet.” When he still hesitated, Shadow gave a sharp laugh. “Quit looking at me like that. It’ll be fun, I promise.” Johnny was starting to feel like a dog being led around on a leash, but he took a deep breath and headed into the deserted locker room, trusting Shadow to keep her word.  
  
Though the clothes fit surprisingly well, they made Johnny feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn anything shorter than jeans, so it was hard not be distracted by the feeling of air on his bare shins. He found himself pulling at the sleeves of the t-shirt, wishing it were long enough to hide the scars on his arms. At least he had found a pair of shoes that fit after trying on a few of the pairs he found sitting in a neat row on the bench in the locker room.  
  
When he came back out into the gym, he found Shadow sitting cross-legged on top of the check-in counter tinkering with some sort of box and a screwdriver while Sykes frowned over her shoulder. She was barefoot and had taken off her sweatshirt to reveal a plain tank top, her long black hair pulled up into a high ponytail. As he got closer, Johnny could see that it was a car battery she was modifying. Before he could ask her what she was planning to with something like that, she set it aside and jumped off the counter, smiling brightly at him.  
  
“Don’t worry, we’ll play with that later,” she said. “Right now, I want to know how you fight.” She led them over to one of the hanging punching bags and the three of them gathered around it. “So, aside from getting hit, how do you fight, Johnnycake?” she asked.  
  
Johnny shrugged and looked at the ground, concentrating on the mottled colors in the concrete. He hated talking about fights, he hated being in them, but he never really thought about how they fought before. He tried to picture the gang in a rumble, tried to picture their moves but it didn’t play out like a movie in his head. There were no moves, it was just instinct, savage reaction.  
  
“I don’t know…” he found himself saying. “You just...hit. Kick. Tackle someone if you can. Try not to let the other guy slug you. You just do whatever you can to get through it.”  
  
“Street rules,” Sykes interjected. Johnny looked up to find the man studying him thoughtfully. “The kids I work with all fight like that. And who do you think wins those fights?”  
  
“Whoever has more guys,” Johnny said bitterly, trying to push the image of a pack of Socs surrounding him out of his mind.  
  
“But what if it’s a one-on-one? Who then?” Sykes prompted. Johnny considered it. He was sure he must have seen single fights plenty of times before, but all he could think about was the pain of the Soc pinning him down, the blood from his nose dripping bright crimson.  
  
“Whoever’s the strongest,” he said.  
  
Sykes nodded, as though that were the answer he was looking for. He stepped up to the punching bag and squared himself off with it. “Everyone thinks fighting is about strength,” he said, and with a loud pop he jabbed his fist with perfect form into the bag. “That strength is the only way to win.” Pop pop, he followed another jab with a sharp cross from his left fist. He reached out and steadied the swaying bag, looking over at Johnny. “But that’s not true. For someone like you, or someone like Shadow, strength isn’t going to get you through. You need to focus on technique.”  
  
He reached over and grabbed a pair of padded training gloves off the bench and handed them to Johnny. He put them on reluctantly, noticing the sparks still shooting intermittently off his bare fingertips. Luckily, they didn’t seem to be hot enough to affect the glove.  
  
“Go ahead and give it a punch,” Sykes told him, taking a step back. Johnny could feel the soft padding of the glove against his knuckles as he balled up his fist and rammed it into the punching bag. His ribs sent out a shock of pain in protest, but to his disappointment the heavy bag didn’t even move.  
  
“Right,” Sykes continued. “Now, you’re going to try it with technique. Pull your fist back, palm up, and tuck it right under your shoulder, just next to your ribs.” Johnny did as instructed, the new pose feeling odd to him. He had never seen anyone fight like this.  
  
“Good,” Sykes said. “Now twist your shoulders, but keep your hips straight.” Johnny felt light fingertips draw his right shoulder back and push his left forward. He felt his muscles protest slightly, like a rubber band pulled taut and ready to snap. “Now, all in one motion, you’re going to twist and throw the punch again,” Sykes murmured. Johnny took a deep breath, feeling the tension in all his twisting muscles, then exhaled, driving his fist once more into the bag. The turning motion of his torso sent a ripple of pain along his ribs, but to his surprise the bag moved, swinging creakily on its long chain.  
  
Sykes smiled at him “You see the difference? That first punch you were just depending on the muscle in your arm. Now you’ve got the power of your abdomen and shoulder behind it. It’s all about the technique. It’s about maneuvering the strength you have and diverting the strength of your opponent. We’ll have to work on your stance, but before long this’ll be muscle memory.”  
  
Johnny could feel the buzzing energy of his powers radiating through him with excitement. He’d never been able to hit anything like that before. Even though his ribs smarted, he was ready to try again.  
  
“Let’s show him what he’s working towards,” Shadow interjected. She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, her eyes gleaming.  
  
Sykes sighed. “We’d better give Shadow her time to shine. She looks for any excuse to beat me up.” Shadow shot him a smirk before leaping deftly up onto the boxing ring. Sykes pulled himself up more slowly behind her. Johnny took a seat on one of the benches next to the ring, giving himself a clear view of the action.  
  
“Alright,” Shadow said, projecting her voice a bit so Johnny could hear her, “Like Sykes just said, this is all about technique. He’s stronger than me, but I am much faster.” She shot a grin at Sykes. “I guess we’ll see how they stack up.”  
  
The two squared off, prowling in slow circles around their opponent with their guards up, waiting, watching, analyzing every movement for a moment to strike. Sykes moved first, stepping in with a jab that Shadow narrowly avoided with a quick step back. She spun out of the way of his next punch, landing a light blow on his briefly exposed ribs before moving away again. Sykes let out a grunt and continued prowling, Shadow shot him a smirk.  
  
Now it was her turn to attack. She bounced in a step closer and Sykes took the bait, snapping a punch at her which Shadow incredibly blocked with an arcing swing of her foot. In a split second she had pivoted, her back heel flying toward Syke’s face, who leaned back in time to avoid the blow. The two moved back and forth, trading a volley of punches, kicks, and blocks in quick succession, as though acting out a complicated choreographed dance. Amid the flurry of movement, Johnny could see a clear difference in their fighting styles. Shadow was fast, dancing around Sykes to land strikes on all sides and angles to keep him guessing before spinning away. Sykes was strong and patient, waiting for her to come to him before deftly blocking her movements and returning a punch or a grapple.  
  
After about a minute, Shadow ended the fight, grabbing Syke’s arm and swinging her legs up and around his throat, slamming him down to the ground with his shoulder locked in her grip. Sykes struggled for a moment before slapping the mat with his free hand, the sound echoing through the gym. Shadow let go and rolled lightly to her feet, grinning and breathing hard.  
  
Johnny sat back in amazement. He had never seen anyone fight like that except in the movies---it just didn’t seem possible. His feeble punch a few minutes ago felt like an insignificant pebble next to a mountain. He hoped that didn’t expect him to fight like that; he couldn’t even imagine himself with a fraction of that skill.  
  
“Don’t worry, Shadow just likes to show off” Sykes said, as if reading his mind. “It’ll take a good many years to get to her level. Even then, I don’t know many who can beat her.” Shadow mockingly stuck her tongue out at him and helped Sykes to his feet.  
  
“Alright, alright, I get it,” she said, ducking under the ropes and jumping gracefully onto the floor. “I'm done showing off. You can focus on the kid.”  
  
For the next hour, Johnny trained under Sykes guidance, learning forms and techniques with precision and patience. Sykes took it slow and easy, which Johnny was grateful for. Although he was eager to learn, his body was far from fighting shape. Every movement sent a small jolt of pain across his ribs and his muscles were sore and achingly tired from the events of the past week.  
  
Though he tried his best to stay focused on his own tasks, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at Shadow out of the corner of his eye whenever he could, still trying to figure out how her small frame managed such power. At every turn she had surprised him--her powers, her intelligence, and now her fighting skills. He realized how little he knew about her; she must have layers of hidden experience, years of training and fighting that he had a feeling she would never fully reveal.  
  
Eventually Sykes called the session to a close, and Johnny gratefully took a seat next to the reception desk while Shadow perched on the countertop. Sykes tossed them each a bottle of water, which Johnny downed eagerly. For a while the three of them simply sat in a comfortable silence, winding down and catching their breath.  
  
“Okay, kid, one last thing,” Shadow interjected after a few minutes. Johnny felt a small flicker of nerves surge in his stomach as she slid the car battery she had been tinkering with across the counter until it rested squarely in front of him. “Don't look so nervous. This is just a little test to see how much voltage you're putting out.”  
  
Sykes shot her a frown and shook his head slightly. “He's too tired, Shadow. You're not going to get an accurate read.” Johnny did feel tired, and truthfully wanted nothing more than to be curled up on the couch at the apartment, but Shadow waved him off.  
  
“I know what I'm looking for,” she said. “Kid, just give this handle a squeeze and focus on powering the battery. Try to get your energy to flow.”  
  
He cast her one last uncertain look before picking up the small wand attached to the battery with a little wire. He noticed a tiny meter attached to the other side, the words amp and Wattage in tidy letters above the needle.  
  
Not wanting to disappoint anyone, johnny closed his eyes and tried to focus, searching for a way to tap into that buzzing energy and urge it out through his fingers by sheer concentration. It all happened so easily before; the electricity was just waiting at the ends of his fingertips like water at a valve. He tried to envision turning the tap on, letting whatever was inside of him flow out, but he was tired. His muscles were sore and his mind was groggy, the energy had subdued to a low buzz. He knew there must be more of it, that it could stem in incredible surges from his very bones, but all he could force out was a feeble flicker on the meter.  
  
“I can't do it,” he relented. He felt a burn of shame crawl across his skin, and he stared at the table unable to meet what must be disappointed gazes.  
  
“Try one more time,” Shadow prompted. Her voice was encouraging, but soft, as though this were all going according to plan. Johnny took a deep breath and tried to concentrate again, trying to feel out the source of his powers to tap into. He repositioned the wand in his hand.  
  
WHAP. An incredible noise burst suddenly from behind Johnny, deafening in the silence of the gym. The shock of it sent a jolt up his spine and the meter let out an alarmed beep as the needle jumped to the far side of the scale. Johnny swung around to see that it was just a wooden folding chair that had folded upon itself and fallen, slapping the pavement. He took a shaky breath and tried to calm the pounding of his heart as the adrenaline spike wore off. He turned to find Shadow smirking at him triumphantly.  
  
“That's what I thought,” she confirmed. Johnny shot her a questioning look. “Your powers are an emotional response,” she said matter-of-factly. “You're not controlling them consciously. Your fear drives them, which isn't surprising.”  
  
Johnny felt a rush of heat on his cheeks and couldn't help but look away, ashamed of his lack of control. If only he wasn't afraid. If only he were brave and fierce like the gang or Shadow, then he wouldn't have to look over his shoulder at night. He wouldn't be targeted to be jumped.  
  
He felt a hand clasp reassuringly on his shoulder and looked up to find Shadow beside him. To his surprise, she didn't seem disappointed. Instead she was smiling at him thoughtfully, as if concocting a plan in her head. “Now we know what to work on first,” she said. “If you can control your fear, if you can control your emotions, then you can control your powers. You can learn to separate them. To use them. To control them so they don't control you.”  
  
Johnny nodded slowly, trying to convince himself to believe the words. He could learn to control this, he told himself. He could learn to live without fear, to be brave like her. He would learn how, there was no choice.


End file.
